


Courage and Might

by Warden935



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: i'm not good with tags
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 18:14:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28978698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Warden935/pseuds/Warden935
Summary: I dont know why I wanted to write this I just did. Some events will change as well as some interactions





	1. Foxhole Reflections Part 1

Anchorage Alaska  
January 16th, 2077 

Corporal Nathaniel C. Fisher sat in his foxhole on a moonlit night, shivering, wiping away the gathered snow on his goggles. Making sure his helmet was tight, checking the breach of his rifle, he could see the moon reflecting off the shiny brass cartridge. Slowly pushing the charging handle forward, the bolt locked into place, thumbing the selector switch to full auto, Fisher was ready for any trouble the commies could throw at him. As Fisher sat there in his frozen hole, he contemplated his life, born on July 20th, 2052, in Boston, Massachusetts. Growing up, he had a decent childhood with no siblings, yet Nate was liked by those he made acquaintances with his various friend groups. Nate's whole world would be turned on its head when the Chinese invaded Anchorage, Alaska.  
He was sitting in his 8th-grade middle school history class. Nate's favorite subject, waiting for his teacher to show up and start teaching. Examining the flag on the wall was the 13 stars and 13 stripes of the American flag; Nate knew the history of forming America into the 13 states, but the 50 stars of old glory seemed more pleasing to look at than the bland 13. The door leading to the classroom opened, and the slow movement of a person dragging their feet, the sound was similar to a death row inmate walking to the executioner chamber.  
Nate turned and saw his teacher Mr.Carden. The man was middle-aged with just hints of gray hair, he was a joyous teacher ready to talk about history, but the man that met the children that day would show a much different emotion. Carden had sunken eyes; he looked like he had aged 40 years in the span of a few minutes, all the while smoking 10 cartons of cigarettes every two hours for each day of those 40 years.  
Carden just kept going as he reached his desk. He fumbled for a chair that was in clear view. Once he managed to get the thing out, he collapsed in the leather chair; it squeaked from the pressure. "I. Am. Unsure how to tell all of you this, but Alaska."  
He could not get the words out before he could continue his stammerings. The announcement chime rang, "attention all students, This is Principle Hughes. As many of you may have heard that Alaska has been invaded by communist China. We just received news of the invasion, 15 minutes ago. We are sending all children home, and the school will be closed for the next week, so you may be with your families at this time. We urge all students to please exit the school in a calm and orderly fashion. Thank you, and stay safe."  
After the announcement, a chorus of chairs squeaking and confused and scared voices echoed through the classroom. "What did she say? America invaded? What does this mean?"  
Nate only caught snippets of these conversations going on around him, the only thing he focused on right then, and there was to get home and call his folks to let them know he was home safe. Nate lived only five miles away from his junior high, with no ample reason for his parents to drive from work in the city and come pick him up. Nate put on his backpack and power walked to the gates of the school. Some parents were already waiting for their children to get out and reach the waiting cars; one woman had tears streaming down her face as she sat in her Chryslus Corvega listening to the radio. One man was chewing his fingers to the point of drawing blood, white as a ghost as he eavesdropped on the radio broadcast.  
Not wanting to stick around any longer, Nate started to jog for home. After an hour, he made it to the front door. Panting and sweating, he fumbled for his keys. Nate dashed inside and threw his backpack aside, and called his folks. After the call, Nate made his way to the living room where the family tv was. The Radiation King flickered to life; turning the dial, Nate found the news station. "Hey kids, try our new Nuka Cola quartz it's got one heck of a taste!"  
Nate rolled his eyes and muttered about tv commercials, and yet a Nuka Cola did sound good even after that jog. Once he got his soda, two more ads played then the news finally came back on. "Hello, Boston; if you are just joining us, then we are covering the communist's attack on American soil. The Chinese have been driving further into Alaska. The navy and air force have been attacking Chinese shipping lanes. Slowing the flow of men and material reaching the Alaskan coast. Let's go live to Jake Field, our frontline reporter who has been covering the troops on the ground."  
The Image flickered, and it showed a dirt-covered face with a combat helmet on with a press stenciled on the side. The man was also wearing a white flak jacket with the same writing. Jake had a finger to his ear then looked at the camera with bloodshot eyes. "The Chinese have been pushing hard ever since 10 A.M. this morning, estimated casualty numbers are scarce. Some say thirty thousand, some say three hundred thousand Chinese dead, over fifty thousand American servicemen have given their lives in defense of Alaska."  
Nate watched some of the battle footage until his folks came home. He got up from the couch and hugged his family. Mrs. Fisher held him tight, and Mr. Fisher put a firm hand on his shoulder. After that day, middle school was just a blur. The only notable moment was hearing each of the senior classes around the nation out of groups of fifteen hundred and two thousand students. Only 40 or so were left to graduate; all the rest were 18 or had permission from their parents, went out to fight.  
Nate was taken from his memories back to the foxhole to think about his life. It was just a blur, well, until the day he met her. The average day today was hearing how those commie bastards were killing civies and beating back the military. After high school, Nate, instead of fighting, got a job making 50 Browning Machine Gun or BMG bullets. He made tracers, exploding shells, and armor piercers. It helped him get money for college. At age 19, Nate started attending community college, where he met the most beautiful woman ever; Nora. Seeing her, Nate just about fell head over heels for her.  
After getting to know Nora for a few days, he asked her out, while not the smoothest and a few stumbles along with the date, like how Nate got pulled over by a traffic cop for going two miles over the speed limit. The theater was closed that day due to a leak, dinner was burnt and sub-par, but the wonderful moonlit walk through the Boston Public Garden was worth every second. Nate and Nora would spend most holidays and their time off together. Then one day, on October 23rd, 2072, It was Nate's day off; Nora would be back from class and return to the tiny apartment they rented together. A letter came through the mail slot it read.  
Nathaniel C. Fisher, you are to report to South Boston Army Base at 0900 on November 10th for basic training. Failure to comply will result in 20 years of prison time. Your country needs you, son. Your deferment has run its course.  
Chairman of the Draft Board General Gill Washington  
Nate was stricken with fear making bullets was what kept him out of the war; it wasn't fighting that scared him. It was dying that he feared. Nate knew enough about past wars to see that they are horrible and absolute hell. After an hour of rereading the draft notice repeatedly, Nora came home and saw the letter in Nate's hand. Nora burst into tears, knowing that her love would have to go out and fight. That night Nate laid in their bed, thinking his mind wandering. He couldn't run to Canada or Mexico. They were annexed and were added as the 14th star on the US flag, and Nate wouldn't abandon his country to fight China on its own. He kept thinking, then he came to the only conclusion sitting bolt upright, he shook Nora awake. "Will you marry me?" Nate said.  
"Wha?" still groggy from waking up; then mimicking Nate's fast action, she sat up as well, "WHAT?" Nora said this time much louder.  
"Will you marry me? I got it all figured out." Nate said with a smile.  
"Well, don't keep me in suspense!" Nora was shocked at what Nate said.  
"I was going to propose to you soon anyway, so I thought what the hell you know. But if I am going into the military, it will be on my terms, enlisted men are paid more, and I can choose where I will go." As Nate talked, he turned to the small nightstand beside the bed, pulled out a little blue case, and opened it; inside was a small gold band, nothing fancy, just something straightforward yet elegant. Nora gave her hand to Nate, and he slipped it on her left ring finger. It fit perfectly.  
Nate kissed his new finance. After the kiss was broken, Nora asked, "where will you go?"  
"I will join the Marine Corps. I know that history has shown that despite them being seen as glue sniffing, crayon eating neanderthals, they are the best of the best. As the saying goes, if you want a job done, you send in the marines."


	2. Foxhole Reflections Part 2 To Hell and Back

Boston Massachusetts  
October 24, 2072  
The following day Nate signed his papers to join the Marine Corps; he got his ticket to take a train to Quantico, Virginia, for training. The Next day Nora and Nate were wed at the Old North Church, with only a handful of family members and friends. After that, the new Mr. and Mrs. Fisher went house hunting for a few days, but they settled on the lovely suburb of Sanctuary Hills. Within a few days, the newlyweds were settled. Then the time came. They sat at the train station waiting for Nate's train to Virginia on their final day together. Nora gripped her husband's arm with a force strong enough to shatter titanium. The mood was sullen when the train arrived. Nora and Nate kissed then parted ways.  
Once in Virginia, Nate made his way to the base where his new journey would begin. The drill instructors were strict but fair. They broke down and built up each recruit, Nate was no exception to the berating, yelling, and abuse the D.I's dished out, but that is what they did, installed a sense of esprit de corps. After only two months of training with every weapon the Corps had at its disposal, heavy machine guns, laser and plasma rifles, and the weapon that would be his standard-issue, the Grant 3 rifle. Based on the German Gewehr 3 from over 100 years ago, an American take the Answer to the Chinese Type 56. In America, military research and development phased out polymer weapons for standard infantry; only power armor, laser, and plasma rifles, even some special forces units like the Marine Raiders with sleek black combat suits got the special polymer. Nate also trained on laser rifles and the new plasma rifles. When Nate finished training, he shipped out to Alaska.  
A few days by rail, Nate made it to Canada. He and the other unit members were driven by marine trucks to the battalion command post, where he met Colonel Francis Demacha, a man with an air of fatherly wisdom.  
"Ah, I see the new kids have arrived. I have come to greet you all. And to lead you to the front. I won't lie, commies have been hammering our positions hard, and I need the lot of you to keep your cool and keep your heads down. Uncle Sam didn't train you so you can get killed on your first day." The Colonel said the 60 other men with Fisher either laughed nervously or hung their heads.  
Demacha gestured to a woman wearing the gold oak leaf, "I am Major Moore." she said.  
"When I call your name, step forward and receive your assignment," Moore stated.  
As the names were called, Fisher's heart raced, he trained as a front line trooper, yet the closer he got, the closer he felt to getting a heart attack, "Fisher!"  
Fisher looked up and saw the Major staring at him, "wake up, Private, you are going with Oppel, Vath, and Ibe to K companies lines. Look for a blue diamond with a red one on it, good luck."  
The approach to K companies lines was a trek through hell; artillery mortars and all manner of tracers were flying around and hitting the ground; by the time the green recruits made it to the front, 20 more marines had joined them. A man with a dirty face and two chevrons noting him as a Corporal was sitting behind cover waiting when he saw the raw recruits' dazed and confused look. "Well, hellfire command said they would send more men. I didn't know it would be this few. I am Corporal Ross." The trooper said in a thick southern accent. Luckily, he could be easily understood.  
The replacements were led to a trench network and given directions on where it was safe to stand and where the sections that required them to crawl. The trenches had large shell craters, with fragments of metal and the occasional bone jutting out, yet they marched on doing what they were trained to do: keep their heads down and move fast. Once at the company command post, each soldier got his or her marching orders Oppel, Vath, and Fisher were in the rifle companies. Their orders were to move to the front of the trench network and meet with Lieutenant Kai and join with her platoon.  
Upon reaching Lieutenant Kai's Position, an alarm bell sounded, "fix bayonets. Reds are trying to advance on our lines. WE WILL NOT LOSE THIS POSITION!"  
Fisher did as instructed and, for the first time not under training conditions, equipped the sharp blade to his rifle's muzzle, knelt down behind cover, sighted in his weapon, and waited to kill another living human. Yes, the Chinese started this war, but human life was a human life.  
American mortars started a barrage. The thumps, followed by the blast, were awe-inspiring. They would shriek, not whistle, but shriek on the way down, yelling at its target to erupt in a geyser of parts and dirt. That is Nate, not Private N. Fisher. But the remnants of his ignorant civilian side saw the mortars hit the ground, and four bodies flew into the air. Then the whistling started, Fisher looked up and saw massive 250-pound shells impact the dirt, and 20 remnants of human beings went flying in all directions. Yet the sea of people just kept coming; soon they were to close for the artillery fire now the bullets started to crack and zip. Tracers flew, big red 50 caliber rounds streaked across the field, impacting the dirt or an enemy soldier. The shells would rip massive holes in their targets, sometimes taking off a limb. On occasion, one would ricochet and fly into the sky. Green tracers started to fly as well, sometimes striking very close to Fisher; all he could do was hunker down more.  
Then Fisher heard small arms fire his fellow marines were firing back because the reds were in the effective range of the infantry's weapons. Fisher sighted on a charging red, Nate could see the man's look of hate and determination to kill someone, he didn't get the chance. The 5.56 left Fisher's rifle and impacted with the top of charging reds skull, shearing a deep gouge in the dead man's head, yet the momentum carried the corpse one more step then collapsed in a heap of equipment. Fisher looked for one more second, then went back to the battle. The dreams would come, he knew it; he just had to live to have them.  
Only 10 minutes passed, just 10 for over 200 people to die. As Fisher inspected the battlefield, a woman approached, "Is this all they sent?"  
Fisher saw her Lieutenants bar and snapped to attention, "uh, no mama, several others are in the rear." Fisher replied.  
"Oh, really well, I'm so glad the mortar men and machine gunners got back up. But pull your head out of your ass, Private we need more bodies to the front. Congratulations, you just volunteered, make your way back to, battalion and tell Demacha to send more men, Take Sergeant Frost with you." Kia said Fisher had read how combat changed people's personalities; from sometimes cool-headed, sometimes blastic, to him, it seemed Kia was in the state of cold and rude.  
"You Fisher?" A voice came from behind him.  
"Yes. Are you Sergeant Frost?" Fisher replied.  
Frost pointed to his uniform with a sarcastic look, Nate read it Frost and then saw the Sergeants' chevrons. "Right well, Sarge, I'll follow you," Fisher said.  
"It's good that you're with me cause I'm about to lay down the five commandments."  
Frost started to number each command on each finger, sometimes hammering on them to get his point across, "One: Keep your feet dry, that means socks at least eight pairs. Two: Keep your head down. Seeing as you managed not to buy it during your first firefight, you're doing well. Three: don't volunteer for shit; that is a good way to get killed. Four: At night, don't sleep unless you have a buddy on watch, and don't smoke. Those bastards can see that from 10 miles out. Also, don't get out of your fox hole for nothing either. Five: Keep. Your. Feet. Dry."  
Frost paused, "Any questions?" He asked.  
Nate said no, and the two trudged through the snow back to the company command post to procure more troops as well as supplies.  
Aside from day to day fighting that was it, Fisher didn't do much except follow the orders he was given all except one.  
In the summer of 75, Corporal Fisher had a choice to probe the enemy lines for possible weakness or stay in his hole and smoke. A good friend, Private First Class Oppel, had volunteered for the outing. Fisher looked to his left to see Sergeant Frost coordinating the machine gun emplacements with other men. Fisher looked at the ground and muttered, "sorry, Sarge, he's my buddy." Then he jogged off to catch up the column.  
The squad of 10 marines marched close to the Chinese lines, the pointman Private Ricks signaled a halt, he heard something the Sergeant in charge signaled for the radio operator to move forward. The kid as instructed took a knee next to the Sergeant. The squad could hear a slow trundling the grinding of gears. They were all wearing the summer issued olive-green fatigues that made for good camouflage. Ducking down, Nate signaled for the rest of the troops to maintain intervals and disperse more evenly. Three of them were too bunched up, and if any explosive decided to land at their feet, a machine gunner with good aim would take them out.  
The rumble grew in its intensity, until just 200 hundred meters away, a Chinese Type 80 tank burst through the tree cover followed by four more tanks of the same make, then two platoons of Chinese infantry were right behind the armor. The lead Type 80 stopped, aimed, and fired its gun into the other tree line. An enormous explosion rocked the trees, knocking down several.  
A plume of smoke drifted above the foliage. In retaliation, something fired back two large tank shells slammed into the lead Type 80, the first shot shearing off the tread and gears on its left side then exploding under the tank. The other shell hit a machine gunner's viewport, punching through the armor then detonating inside the armored hull; fire spewed forth the once secure hatches flying open. Two American T75s came from the opposite tree line one still had twin smoking barrels. The hidden squad could see a burning tank behind the functional ones. Trailing the armored units were seven T45d power armor soldiers, three equipped with miniguns, one with a missile launcher, and the other power armor units fitted with the new assault rifles complete with 75 round drum magazines.  
"Sergeant Wells!" Fisher shouted.  
"We have to fall back. Now!" Fisher said again as the minigun troopers opened up hot led pinged of the tanks or hit the infantry scattered about tearing into those exposed with punishing fire. Wells was a competent NCO, but the amount of fire coming in was loud, Fisher could barely hear himself shout. The tanks exchanged fire once more. Two of the Chinese tanks' shots bounced off the Americans hull. A loud gong resonated through the field. The third shot hit the track of the T75, making gears fly in all directions. The power armor trooper operating the missile launcher fired. The smoke trailed the rocket and struck the commander's hatch while dealing some damage, but not enough to get through the armor. A Chinese tank swiveled its gun towards the men in armor, the concussive force generated from the muzzle sent an explosive shell towards the man with the rocket, all that was left was red vapor and metal fragments.  
Sergeant Wells, at that moment, managed to gain his composure, "In teams of two, make moves on the double, if they spot you, then we will draw fire. We leapfrog until we are all home. Clear."  
Oorah's sounded off. Then they got ready. The team first was a rifleman and a support gunner carrying an M64 light machine gun. The two bounded off Fisher laid prone, watching to see if the two were spotted. They made it without incident; Wells signaled for the radioman and the pointman to move up, they made it. The battle continued to rage all around. More American tanks supported by power armor units joined the fray. The Chinese sent more troops and tanks. Planes were called for bombing sorties. What would have been a short run turned into a slow dog fight as Chinese and American bombers tore each other to shreds. Fisher got the word he was next. The team before him was a corpsman and another rifleman. When Nate bounded for cover, he felt a truck slam into his shoulder; the new momentum threw him to the ground, his vision went blurry, and his eyes started to lose focus. "Oh god! Corpsman!" who shouted Nate thought, who got hit, "Opp, you good buddy?" The haze drifted lower.  
"Oh hell, Fish. Hold on, man. Where that fucking corpsman!" Nate's vision cleared for a moment his mind caught up to what happened, he felt his chest armor. Bullets stitched three holes in a vertical pattern on the left side of his body. Nate felt two people lift him then it all went black.  
Nate woke up and his entire left side was on fire. With a grunt of pain, a white-uniformed nurse heard Nate and instantly turned in his direction, "hold on, hold on." she cooed, making calm down gestures with her hands.  
"Where am I?" Nate's eyes darted around the room.  
"You're in an American hospital in Burnaby, a former Canadian city." the woman said.  
"Can you tell me your name?" she said.  
"Corporal Fisher. N 1st Marine Division K Company." Nate responded automatically  
Somewhat satisfied with that. The nurse explained that he got shot three times, the bullets went right through his combat armor, front and back. Nothing took too bad of an injury; it was more luck than anything. Luckily due to a medical breakthrough with the Stim healing agent, Nate would make a full recovery, then she handed him a stack of papers.  
"What are these?" Nate inquired.  
"Discharge papers from the hospital. Your leave papers, your injuries bought you 14 month’s' leave and a plane ticket. We are so full here even though you had a few days to heal. We need to get you out of here as soon as possible." The nurse said rapidly, explaining each set of papers.  
"I've been out for a couple of days?" Nate asked.  
"Yes, I'm sorry I didn't mention that sooner. As I said, we are busy." The nurse apologized.  
Nate signed the papers and left the hospital, doctors military and civilian, scrambled down the halls, on his way out, he was given his kit bag and caught a cab to the airport. For the first time in his life, Nate was in first class. The flight was cut short when they announced that they were in Boston. Taking another cab all the way home. To Sanctuary Hills.  
He knocked on the door, and his father answered the door. Wide-eyed Mr. Fisher just watched and studied the man in front of him, "dear who's at the doo-."  
Mrs. Fisher stopped dead in her tracks, seeing her son for the first time since he left for marine training.  
Then she said, "Nora! Dear, could you come here please."  
Nate heard the backyard door open over his father's shoulder. He saw her, Nate's father stepped aside to reveal the open doorway. Nora shrieked and tackled Nate to the ground; despite the pain, it felt great to see his love once more. Nate talked about his friends and what marine training was like, and how he got injured that night over dinner. The one subject passed over was day to day fighting, killing, and seeing his new friends die, sometimes in horrible ways. Waving goodbye to his parents as they drove away, Nate felt good to be home. It got even better when he and Nora spent some much-needed quality time together. After those first few nights, the next 14 months would be a blur to Nate. Shaun would be born in April 2076, Nora would get her diploma, and then Nate would have to leave on the same train he left the first time. This time with thoughts of not leaving his wife a widow and his son without a father.  
Through that ride, Nate had another thought. These events were the same thing that happened all along with humanities past, Fathers sometimes mothers would kiss their children and ride off to the front to meet the enemy in battle, so their children don't have to use a club, a spear, a gun to fight the enemies of his or her nation. How it's fought will always change, but the cause, greed, power, land, resources. “Fucking oil.” 

Nate angrily thought, America was the last to have a ready supply. All those cases for and for what death and maiming, innocents dead. History told him everything. Now he truly understood what all those soldiers were trying to say, "war, war never changes," Nate whispered.  
And yet, as the train passed by, the triumphs of humanity, skyscrapers, airplanes, and more. Despite all of humanity's flaws, we are not without redemption. Humans even made it to the moon. Nate fell asleep as the train rode on determination burned inside. He wanted to make it home.


	3. Rangers Lead the Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> End of the battle for Alaska

Anchorage Alaska   
January 16th, 2077   
After several months of brutal fighting, Fisher was here in his foxhole, remembering what led up to this moment. Sitting in a frozen hole, reminiscing about his life, waiting for the day when this war would end, then he and his brothers and sisters in arms could go home. One last battle was on the horizon. Finally, he could *thump* Nate's head jerked forward as he felt someone slap the back of his helmet.   
"Really?" Fisher asked.   
"I've been trying to talk to you for the past five minutes. The hell are you doing?" Lance Corporal Oppel said.   
"Thinking," Nate responded.   
"Don't keep me in suspense." Oppel animatedly said.  
"Life, the war, my family. The usual shit." Nate stated.   
"What did you want to talk about?" he quickly added.  
"The rumor mill. And before you give me that speech, you always do listen to me for a sec. The dog faces over at Foxtrot, saying those guns that have been hammering Army General Chase's position have been taken out by only two people." Oppel finished with a smug grin. Fisher strained his hearing aside from occasional staccato bursts of fire. The artillery was quiet. K Companies' position to Foxtrot was close enough to hear the guns fire and the big shells' explosion.   
Fisher looked at his friend in amazement; for once, he was somewhat right, "ok, so the guns are gone. But seriously, only two people?"   
Oppel cracked a big grin and held up one hand palm out, "god's, honest truth, my friend. Two crazy S.O.B.'s took down two platoons of crack Chinese troops and two squads of Crimson Dragon infiltrators!" Oppel said with mirth as he looked at Nate's expression of disbelief.   
"Ok then, jackass. Who took them down? I know it wasn't the SEALS, nor the Marine Raiders." Nate listed off the two with that kind of will. To take on that many and still beat the odds and come out on top."   
Oppel just smiled, "U.S. Army Rangers."   
"The dog faces got the job, what a load of shit," Nate said.   
"That's what I said." a new voice entered the conversation. Gunnery Sergeant Frost was on one knee peering into the hole.  
"The Rangers got the job done. That's all that matters. Now, will you two gossiping teenagers shut up and watch for enemy movement?" Frost said   
"Rodger Gunny," Fisher said with a nod.   
The next day news was passed around the line that the same Ranger team knocked out communication for the Chinese in this area. Now they were blind and running on shortwave communications radios that were spotty during the cold winter months. Now orders were to start to move to the main Chinese stronghold in Anchorage to surround the Chinese command and strangle the life out of the dragon. The only thing they had to do was wait for the Chimera depot's destruction. The reds were using those experimental tanks; the Commies dealt significant damage around the front lines. New rumors were making around America had created a new suit of power armor and were going to deploy it in the final battle. Some also said America had three more in development, more advanced than any other model to date. 

After two days of marching to the marine rally point, word came down. On January 20th, the final attack against the Chinese invaders would commence, and all marines in K Company were ordered to the 1st division headquarters for a parade. Of course, they bitched and moaned about some General to give some half-hearted speech about honor and courage and how he will be sitting on his ass while the real men did the dying. When they formed up, a General was standing there, but his posture was odd, arms at his sides; other notable officers were there, Demach, Major Kia, and more. They all have the same pose. The General stepped up to the microphone. "Marines, we have been fighting this enemy for more than 10 years. A conflict has raged over the tundras of Alaska, and now we have the tools to end this war. Tomorrow we attack and here to lead you into this last battle, Major General, Garvey." the General stepped aside, and a soldier in a brand new suit of power armor stepped on the podium.   
The armor was strange to look at massive pauldrons, puffed out chest plate, boots much bigger than the T45s. The Major General took off his helmet, and 'shook' or more accurately ate, the General's hand, with his servo, assisted one. Standing proud in the new armor, then the steady thuds of big metal boots hit the ground, from behind a row of tents, two battalions each one thousand strong, power-armored soldiers marched into view. They all had the globe and anchor, and USMC written on the left side of the chest on the right was their name and rank. Each one of them carried a variety of weapons.   
Many carried slug throwers, flamers, and a few carried large riot shields. Fisher saw the green glow of plasma-based weapons and the new Gatling Laser. The thing had a sizable power pack connected to the fusion core to help feed the weapon more energy. Fisher gawked at these futuristic knights ready to charge the castle like they had so long ago.   
That night plans were set in place, and each squad was to be sent in waves; each one was assigned a 'babysitter' a T51 with a shield to block incoming fire. Sleep was hard to get for many Fisher laid in his hole looking at the moon and thinking about the plan. At 0400, the bombardment would begin at 0500 chow would be served then at 0630, the final battle would commence. The Army would push the front door, and the Marines would charge the enemies' rear lines.   
Just like clockwork, it was 0400, and the guns were ripping into the red lines. Fisher peaked his head up to see well-fortified positions crumble, yet it wasn't enough. Maybe a few bunkers would fall, but not all stiff resistance was to be expected. After an hour, every soldier ate steak and eggs, a long time tradition. At 0600, Fisher's squad led by Frost gathered together, they all shook hands and waited for the whistle to attack.   
As soon as the clock struck 0630, the barrage was lifted, and whistles blew. Marines surged forward power armor titans led the way Chinese machine guns opened up, bullets pinged off the shield protecting Fisher's squad, in the distance, snipers fought each other as well as picking targets of opportunity. Mortars began to fall like rain, enemy gunners trying to zero the Americans. One T51 trooper was hit directly with a shell killing the titan; without his protection, the men behind were torn apart by machine gunfire.   
Nate's squad was assigned multiple objectives, the first was to knock out a pillbox with the sixth squad, but they had just been K.I.A. now it was up to just the seventh, led by Gunny Frost. Luckily the seventh only took heavy machine-gun fire, and with their T51 still standing, the first pillbox was reached, the muzzle flashed spewing from the slit were harsh. Fisher and Oppel circled to the back door waiting for Private Gates. Gates standing near the small opening to the bunker, pulled the pin on her grenade and threw the pineapple in the gunners slit, the gunfire stopped, and voices could be heard frantic footsteps trying to find the explosive. Moments later a loud, pomp went off.   
As soon as the grenade blew, Oppel and Fisher stormed in double-tapping the gunner and loader for the big gun, the only one still somewhat functional was the co-gunner he stepped from a pill of ammo boxes knife drawn, Oppel and Fisher shredded the soldier with a hail of lead.   
After the first pillbox was secured, the seventh squad needed to move to secure the second pillbox before the marines could move on to the refinery. Word had come down that Army Rangers had progressed through their sector's trench line and were en route to knock out the enemies plus defense grid. Before the T51 could bring his shield to bear, a mass battle cry rang out. Over 200 Chinese infantrymen swarmed into the Marine lines, the battle soon turned into a knife and gun show.   
Frost shouted, "take up firing positions!" each Marine in the squad got ready for the coming wave.  
The T51 electronic voice came hissing out from external speakers, "pass me the red M.G."  
As instructed, Fisher and Oppel took the large gun off the tripod and the belts of ammo.   
Before the trooper could bring the weapon around, a high-pitched zip came screeching through the air and hit the T51 right in the chest front, coming out of his back. The man fell backward, slag pooled from the hole in his armor. "Oh hell, get down, that was a gauss rifle! How did they get one of our weapons?" The radioman in Fisher's squad said.  
"I don't know, but get your heads down before you get 'em blown off," Frost said nervously, thinking about the prospects of getting hit with a two-millimeter tungsten slug going mach one.   
The Chinese troops were getting closer now, Oppel popped up from cover and fired. As he killed three soldiers, a round came streaking in and hit the middle finger knuckle of his right hand; the bullet entered his hand and came out his palm. It shattered his hand. Gates stepped forward and started to bandage Oppel's hand as best as she could.   
When Gates was finished, Oppel said, "Sergeant Frost, let me use your sidearm, I can't hold my rifle with my right hand."   
Frost nodded and handed over the boxy 10mm pistol. The weapon hit like a truck and would knock down any commie who stood in its way.   
From across the way near the pillbox, fifth squad was now engaged hand to hand with the enemy; angry cries and gurgles of men stabbed in vital areas mixed with fists or rifle butts cracking against skulls. After the magazines were redistributed, seventh squad got ready to fight their own small skirmish with the enemy.   
10 Chinese troops engaged, seventh squad—10 on 10. The first three were shot dead before they could even bring their rifles to bear. Seconds later, something was thrown towards the team. One squadmate dove to pick up the object. Fisher saw him pick up what looked like a grenade, right as the soldier stuck his head out of cover, he was shot in the face and died instantly.   
"We need to fall back; we'll get picked off at this rate, pop some smoke," Frost ordered.   
Fisher and the squad threw smoke grenades, trying to get away from the Chinese onslaught; Frost was the first to exit the area dashing through the smoke. Oppel and Gates followed. Before Nate could move, the reds started to bombard their former position with mortars. A man behind Fisher got blasted with the murderous shells; he was torn apart.   
The squad ran mortars pounding the dirt other marines from the company were trying to reach safety. As they ran, a shot rang out, managing to pierce the ding of artillery fire. Frost went down.   
"Oh shit, sniper, hit the deck!" someone shouted. Fisher was the closest to Frost, Nate dragged the N.C.O. into a nearby shell crater one of the large 250 shells had made.   
Once they were safe for the time being, Nate lifted Frost's arms to start applying first aid, then he saw his wounds. The large bullet ripped Frost's abdomen apart, "Fish, *cough* *gasp* how, bad?" Frost wheezed out.   
"It ain't that bad. You'll make it." Nate tried to assure the non-com as he frantically worked on stopping the bleeding.   
"That's the kind, *gasp* of things I tell kids as they die." Frost weakly said.   
After applying all the bandages in his pack Nate picked up Frost, "come on, Gunny, let's get to the aid station. Someone there will help you." Fisher's voice was tight; he didn't want to lose his N.C.O., the guy was a hard-case, but that's the kind of mentality most Sergeants get; they just want to bring their kids home. As Nate got closer to American lines, the slow movement of Frost's breath slaked, feeling the change, Nate started to shout, "corpsman! Doc! Medic! Some for god's sake, someone help me!" one army medic and corpsman came rushing toward Fisher.   
As they approached, Nate started to lower Frost to the deck. Cold eyes stared at Nate as he set the N.C.O down.; nothing was said, no heroic ending where the medics save the day just before the hero dies no fan fair. Gunnery Sergeant Grayson Frost was killed on a cold day in January. Minutes before, the leading Chinese invading force surrendered to the American Army Rangers and the Army's 1st Battalion 15th Regiment.   
Nate stood there, the front of his uniform covered, in Grayson's blood, the remnants of seventh squad gathered to pay their respects to the dead. Even Though Grayson was the last major combat casualty, many more would die in the next eight days to officially secure Alaska and clear out any communist resistance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of how I figured the Alaskan war would end for Nate. Soon I can start talking about the waste land.


End file.
